Reflections
by kyrdwyn
Summary: A glimpse into Catherine and Grissom's history


Title: Reflections 

Author: kyrdwyn

Rating: R

Spoilers: None that I can think of right now

Archive: To my website and Fanfiction.net only

Summary: A glimpse into Catherine and Grissom's history

Disclaimer:If they appear on CSI, they belong to those companies, CBS, and the actors who make them come alive. The other characters, as well as the plot lines, are mine (or I'm theirs, never quite sure which). Done purely for enjoyment and not for profit.

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_They all think I'm carrying a torch for him. They couldn't be further from the truth. That flame died out years ago, replaced by friendship and admiration. I couldn't go down that road again, not with him. I love him dearly, but I couldn't work with him if we went there again._

It was the oddest way to meet a man. She'd gone outside the back of the club to have a cigarette in private. There he was, rummaging in the dumpster. She stood there, cigarette forgotten as she eyed the lean form that was encased in black and silhouetted by the light above the service entrance. Figuring he was some homeless guy looking for a bottle of booze with a few drops left, she'd turned to go back into the club and get a bouncer. Then he'd straightened up, and she'd been transfixed by the light gleaming on his blonde-brown hair and by the look on his face as he gazed at what he'd found. She must have made a sound, because his eyes turned to her. Blue eyes, sharp and intelligent, focused on her, and she froze. She was used to being ogled and leered at - it was the point of her job - but he did neither, rather he calmly took in every detail about her and seemed to catalog it away for future reference. Silence stretched out between them until she felt almost compelled to say something, anything, to divert those blue eyes before she drowned. 

_God, how I wanted to drown in those eyes. I wanted to touch him, see if he was as warm and muscled as he looked. See if I could make him look at me the way he'd looked at what he'd found in that dumpster._

"This is private property," she informed him. 

His eyebrow quirked. "Actually, this alley belongs to the city, and this trash is in a public place." 

He couldn't be homeless, not with that voice and knowledge. Then again, no one in the club knew she was a year away from her bachelor's degree. Appearances could be deceiving. 

"Who are you?" 

He stepped forward, pulling a chain from around his neck and handing it to her. "I'm Gil Grissom, from the Criminalistics Bureau." 

She looked down at the ID, recognizing the shield of the Metro Police department behind the writing. 

"You're a cop," she said accusingly. Cops were bad news around the club. Fleetingly, she thought of the cocaine that Marilyn had in her locker, for the party later that night. They could all be busted if he found that. 

He shook his head and smiled disarmingly. "No, I'm a scientist." 

_A simple statement he meant to reassure me. Little did he know how that word struck something within me._

"What does a scientist do with cops?" she asked in a challenging manner. 

"I investigate the crime scenes, use the evidence found there to find the perpetrators. Like with the stabbing here from the other night." 

_That's what I'd really been afraid of - he was there about Gerald and Mac and their fight over who was going to buy drinks for Katy. Mac had been more insistent about it - and pulled a knife to make his point. Gerald ended up dead in the alley, Mac nowhere to be found. The cops had come, carting away the body and questioning the dancers and the patrons too drunk to slink away._

He leaned down to where a large silver case sat on the ground and pulled out a manila envelope, writing on it before dropping what he'd found in the trash into it - a knife. She knew instantly that it was Mac's knife - he'd shown it to her once. He'd had it specially made to fit his hand, with his initials inlaid in gold in the black handle. 

Though she tried to make no indication that she recognized the knife, he knew. Somehow, he knew. 

"You recognize the knife?" he asked quietly. 

Her eyes met his, and she wanted to tell him everything. He looked so kind, unlike the cops who had been here the other night. He looked like a man who would understand what happened, and not blame Katy for it. She stayed silent, though. Mac was a dangerous man to cross. 

_He saw right through me then, the way he often manages to see through the facades of criminals and witnesses._

"Was this the knife used to kill Gerald Sheridan?" he asked in that same quiet voice. She nodded, not wanting to use words that would come back to haunt her. 

He nodded in return, picking up his case. "Thank you." He turned and started to leave, pausing. "If you think of anything else," he said, offering her a business card. She took it and he left. 

_He treated me like a woman, like a human. Not as a piece of flesh. It was unusual. It was…wonderful._

A few weeks later, Katy approached her as she came off stage. "There's a guy outside the back door looking for you. Says his name is Grimson, something like that." 

She thanked Katy and hurried to the back door. He was standing near the dumpster, his hands in his pockets, looking at the ground. Somehow, he managed to look uncomfortable and out of place where he had previously looked right at home. 

"Hey." 

His head snapped up, and he gave a small smile. "Hey. I thought you would like to know that Mac Busch is in jail for Gerald Sheridan's murder. Blood on the knife matched Sheridan's. Busch confessed." 

She nodded. "You didn't need to come here to tell me that." 

"You helped me." 

"You could come inside, have a drink," she offered. A look crossed his face, mixture of panic and surprise. 

"I, ah, don't think so. Not really my kind of place." 

_That was the understatement of the year. Letting Gil Grissom into a strip club is like letting me into a convent. Not only because he works with the police, but because its against his nature. Don't get me wrong - he likes women. He's just a private man, not one to air his feelings and relationships in public._

"Well, I get off at 3. Want to go for a drink?" She didn't want to let him get away this time. His comment before about being a scientist, about solving crimes, had touched her somehow. She wanted to learn more. 

He looked like he wanted to refuse. Finally, he shrugged, naming a bar a few streets away. 

_That was the first night of many. All meetings in innocuous places - bars, Denny's, even over at restaurants in some of the hotels. All after we both finished work. That first night, I'd told him about going back for my degree. Asked him for help. He was more than happy to help out on science stuff. And, when I bugged him about his job, he told me about using science to solve crimes. Man, how I wished I could be like him. Then, there was the one night…_

It must have been a bad night for him, because instead of nursing one beer the entire time he was on his second when she got there, and his fourth when they left. That was in addition to a few shots of Jack. She ended up driving him home. 

He stumbled into his house, cursing at the floor for tripping him. She couldn't help but giggle. He was always so in control, so calm and patient, that seeing him drunk was a trip for her. Better than cocaine. 

They reached his bedroom. She had intended to push him onto his bed, remove his shoes, and leave him there. He had other ideas, apparently. In the doorway, he stopped and swung around to face her, his eyes a deep blue, staring down into hers, causing her to wonder if he was really as drunk as he had pretended to be. A few seconds later, she was pretty sure he'd been faking it. 

An hour later she knew he'd been sober. 

_I often hear people talk about Grissom and how, when he speaks with you, he gives you his full attention - hearing you, watching you; concentrating only on you. It's not just an act he uses to get more information. It's him. His personality, his personal quirk. When he sets his mind to something, he concentrates on it fully. Whether it's a conversation, an experiment, or a woman in his bed._

She lay in his bed, listening to him sleep. She was too keyed up to sleep, despite several mind-shattering orgasms. God, this man was incredible. Most guys were only concerned with their gratification, and if she came it was a bonus. Grissom seemed to be the opposite - her pleasure was more important, his secondary, something to be indulged in only after he'd taken her over the edge several times. 

_In a way, it was scary to have all that attention on me in bed. And then, out of bed, it was different. He was able to separate his personal life from his professional. It wasn't so easy for me. Especially those times when, outside of the bedroom, it seemed like we weren't lovers at all, merely friends. Anyway, our relationship changed after I met Eddie. Sometimes, I wonder why I stopped seeing Grissom for Eddie. But then, Eddie met needs that I couldn't tell Grissom about. Not then, at least. I kept that habit from him._

Grissom came to her graduation, even though they had been 'broken up' for months. Eddie wasn't too happy, but he only knew about Grissom as a scientist with the cops, not as her lover. 

Eddie wasn't any happier when Grissom told her about an opening in his department. Eddie liked the money that her stripping brought in. Working for Metro would mean less money, but for her it meant more respectability. Besides, she'd worked hard for her degree, and she'd be damned if she wasn't going to use it. 

_Grissom and I stayed friends. He stayed out of my personal life, though I could tell he sometimes wondered about Eddie and me. I know I was a total fool to marry Eddie, but since I got Lindsay out of the deal I can't complain. She really is my life. For her, I got clean and started to work harder at my job, to move up from lab tech to CSI, so that she would have a Mom she could be proud of. Eddie didn't see it that way. He was still trying to make it in the music business. And making it with the bimbos who wanted to be a star._

"You knew." 

Grissom looked up from his book and swallowed the sweet and sour chicken he'd been chewing on. "I knew what?" 

"That Eddie was cheating on me." 

He didn't say anything, but guilt flashed in his eyes. 

"Why didn't you tell me? I thought we were friends, Grissom." 

He sighed. "Did you really want to know?" 

No. She didn't really want to know. She wanted to crawl back into her cave and pretend that they were the perfect happy family. But she couldn't, not now. 

"How did you find out?" 

"I saw them, together, at a bar I was at while working the McPherson case." 

She dropped into a chair. "That was five months ago." 

He nodded, the guilt still in his eyes. It would explain a lot - why he'd been so quiet around her since then and so willing to run interference with Brass when she was trying to patch things up with Eddie. 

_It wasn't until later that I realized he was also worried that if he told me, it would seem like he was trying to put a wedge between Eddie and me. Like he was trying to get me back, despite the years that had passed since we were lovers. I know he had moved on, the way I had. We both valued our friendship too much; and while we may love each other, we're not in love. We know we wouldn't work out. I can't live in his segmented world, where nothing from one area is allowed to spill over into another. He can't live in my unified world, where everything that happens shapes who I am and how I react._

"Catherine - Brass called. Victim's sister brought in something he says we ought to see." 

"I'll be right there." 

_The past year and a half has aged him so much. I miss the Gil Grissom I met, the one that laughed and joked and had a genuine smile, not the half smile that he gives when he knows it's a socially required response, but his heart isn't in it. His heart isn't in a lot of things anymore. He's just going through the motions now, because he has to. Being supervisor has just taken some of the enjoyment out of his job for him. I know he won't quit though. He couldn't do any other job. Not like me - I've been a waitress and a stripper and a CSI all in one lifetime. He once told me that being a stripper was what I did, it wasn't who I was. He was right. But being a CSI is who Grissom is. There's almost no room left for anything else outside the job. It's why I couldn't go there again, couldn't be his lover, his lady. What we have is enough for both of us._


End file.
